


After, but Now

by RobinEye



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Not quite a fix-it fic, Pre-Wayward Son, Relstionship conflict, SO MUCH FLUFF, SnowBaz, Talking things out like adults, but close, domestic life, post-carry on, post-humdrum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 07:07:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20738213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinEye/pseuds/RobinEye
Summary: The War that Wasn’t ended long ago, the Humdrum has been vanquished, and the Trio are living their new lives to the fullest. But... what happens next? There’s so many things that they haven’t figured out yet. How is Simon coping with his trauma? Will Baz admit to himself that he probably should talk to a therapist? How do you get over eight years of hostility? Saving each others lives is the first step, but talking is the only real way to understand each other.





	After, but Now

Simon Snow POV

I find that in every city anywhere, people take great pride in weekend culture. London for one, has not been very subtle about its. Every discussion, lesson, and lecture I’ve had so far at University has at least one groaning student dying for a Saturday, a professor sharing the plans they have with their spouse—The longing for a weekend feels almost atmospheric. I’ve always seen that kind of perspective as a little silly, but now I feel a little more sympathetic to the idea.

Weekends, to me now, are especially precious. 

Back at Watford I always spent them with Penny and Agatha. We were a trio, and a team. We plotted together, saved each other, risked our lives against the Humdrum (and survived!). 

I know it may not seem like it to Penny, and not to Agatha I’m sure, but my years at Watford were the best of my life. Not the danger or the Humdrum, the ‘adventures’, but just  _ going to school _ . The days the three of us just spent together. Things melted away and we were just teenagers again. No fighting, no running, just  _ being _ .

Most of these days happened to be on weekends. We would be out on the lawn during the autumn, reviewing our notes and practicing spells. The autumn weather always treated us well—especially for Britain. The sun would be warm and inviting, the breeze shaking through the Wavering Wood only bring the slightest chill. Occasionally we’d bring picnic lunches, Penny would spell a blanket, and we’d just sit, and talk, and laugh. During the winters we sat in the library, huddled up in our corner between the herbology shelves. We sat surrounded by the smell books, and the scratches of papers and pens; one or more of us dozing off on a particularly late night, while snow fell outside. 

These nights were rarities, but I loved them the most.

With all this time I now have, I've been thinking about Watford a lot, and how much I miss it (I’ve been thinking a lot in general, which is a change). 

But now that I’m in a normal university, things are different.

Now that I’m  _ normal _ , things are different.

I’m only taking a few classes right now—‘Just to get the basics out of the way. I’m not sure on what I’ll be doing next, but I've found that I have a lot of time to think on it. 

It seems that time was the one thing that eluded me before I left Watford. I was always running out of it. The moments passing felt unsettled, blurred. Maybe it was part of being the Humdrum, or part of being magic.

In my memories, everything is rushed. But now?

I have nothing but time.

My classes take up seven hours of my week at most, (Twelve with homework) and I have a job at a coffee bar, but that’s only another twelve hours total out of the week I’m busy. Add those hours to my sleep hours, and I’ve got… well.. (I’m fucking awful with math) TOO MANY hours left to do nothing.

My therapist said that I should wait on having a full-time job, if I can. She doesn’t want any pressure greater than schoolwork on me, which is a first

Penny hasn’t a job though, with her mum as the new headmistress at Watford, and her dad working with normals again, money has stopped being an issue in the Bunce household. But the absence of a job left a void of time that Penny decided to fill with three extra classes—Of course—and, if I didn’t know how brilliant she was, I’d be worried for her sanity. It happens to be that Penny has a full day of classes on Saturdays, so I’m usually the one at home. 

And I have to say that I  _ love _ our apartment. Penny makes it smell just like her, she burns incense by the window, letting the fresh air mix with deep lavender. It smells  _ great _ . Penny says that aromatherapy is really good for stress. 

Our apartment is cozy and cluttered, there’s always books and papers spread out over the kitchen countertops. Penny’s novels pile on the floors where the shelves have run out of space, and I’ve actually had the patience to read a few. There’s thick wool and Afghan blankets thrown over the couch, and candles on every flat surface. The candles are Penny’s, she’s trying hard to get into Divination. She’s not quite good at it  _ yet, _ but I’m sure she will be with more practice ( _ She told me that I was going to hit a streak of ‘duck’, and got mad at me for laughing).  _

But when Penny’s gone and all my work is done, I find myself where I am now, alone, drowning in thought and time.

So… what do I do to occupy all of this time to you ask? Well, I just so happen to have an amazing boyfriend who clears his weekends for me. 

It’s not as big a deal as you’d think. Baz doesn’t work, but the time he spends with his nutter aunt and on schoolwork alone makes it feel like he has a nine-to-five. He says he can’t study at Penny and I’s place because it’s ‘distracting’. I think it’s cause of Penny’s incense but she scoffs whenever I mention it. 

Baz is busy, but not  _ that _ busy. We end up spending almost all of our free time just… together. Not doing anything much but just sitting, holding hands, or going shopping.

We talk of course, but only about small things (Our days, the weather, helping each other with homework...). 

Baz doesn’t like to talk about the past. He told me that we have too much bad blood between us, and that instead, he wants to focus on making happy memories.  _ ‘Focus on the present’ _ is what he tells me, but I feel like it’s going to take a long time to shift through everything that’s happened to us. I mean… There’s so much fucked up  _ shit _ in our lives. It’s tough to talk through it all—especially since we both were  _ there  _ when most of it happened. We saw everything through a different haze. And it  _ hurts _ . It hurts so much now to know how much we hurt each other… We usually only talk about ‘the past’ when it’s late and were alone and… That’s okay. Nothing about us is going to be solved in a day, and after all, we  _ do _ have time to figure it out.

I shift from my spot on the sofa to make more space for my wings (Yeah, let’s not talk about that), and look over at Penny’s big antique clock hanging on the wall. The time is around four-thirty—four-twenty-six to be exact. The big hand of the analog clock ticks slowly on as I play with the hem of my shirt. There’s a thread loose and I have to resist the urge to pull it. It’s a nice shirt, and I don’t want to ruin it. 

I watch as the minutes pass. I feel a shallow pool of excitement beginning to build up in my chest. Baz will be over soon, and he is  _ never _ a second late to anything if he can help it. I’ve developed a habit of seeing how close he scrapes to the deadline. 

Four-twenty-seven passes, then four-twenty-eight. Four-twenty-nine…

The front door opens at exactly at four-thirty-and-thirty-twenty seconds. I hear the familiar jingle of keys as Baz steps into the apartment. I raise my hand over the back of the sofa,

“You’re late.” I say bluntly, but there’s a smile on my face. I hear Baz walk farther in and pause, checking the clock no doubt.

“Crowley Snow, it’s only been forty seconds.” Just hearing his voice makes me grin. Just like Penny, all of the smiling he makes me do makes my cheeks hurt.

I wiggle my fingers at him from over the sofa, and he takes my hand.

I look up at him. 

His mouth is flat but his eyebrow is raised as he begins to stroke my hand with the pad of his thumb (It’s the same expression that used to make me feel dumb, but now I’ve learned it means something else). I’m smiling still, and he leaves my hand to walk around the lounge and join me. The sofa that I’m stretched over is big, but my ankles still dangle over the edge. My arms are tucked over my chest and my tail (yes, my tail) is wedged between the cushions. 

Baz has crouched next to me, he’s looking as posh always. Casual blazer, a classy patterned button up, and these loud, beautiful, brown leather shoes that click when he walks (they make him seem so professional). His spelled hair is beginning to fall out of place like it often does near the end of the day, and he smells like bergamot and sandalwood. I realize I’m staring at him too late, and he inclines his head (accompanied by a cock of the eyebrow), and returns my gaze with his own soft stare.

His face I recognize as well as my own, but I never get tired of looking at it. I’m terribly sure that I’ve described him time and time again, but...what can another round hurt? 

Baz has these gorgeous, deep eyes. They can snap from calm to furious faster than he can blink. They’re a cold, light grey, and deliver category five snowstorms on command (I’ve often thought that  _ his _ last name should be Snow). Above them, his eyebrows are ever-characterized by his current emotion. They’re thick and dark, and he must either tweeze or use magic to keep them neat because I’ve never seen a hair out of place. His skin is pale, and clear, without any natural marks or moles  _ anywhere _ —except for where it scars, of which turn an even paler white than his skin. Baz’s hair is my favorite. He’s let it grow out a bit longer since school, and I’ve found his dark locks to be prettier and prettier everyday; the same could be applied to Baz himself. God bless his mother and father, handsome as the fucking devil, he is. (And he’s mine! I’m his boyfriend!) 

I can touch him whenever I want, and I want to touch him now. So, I do.

My hand reaches out, and he takes it again. His hands are softer than mine, and I can feel the calluses on my palm scrape his skin. He smiles, which means he’s ecstatic (To see  _ me _ ).

Baz looks to my eyes. I must look tired because he takes his other hand to push my hair from my face. It tickles when his fingers brush my forehead, and when he softly strokes them against my cheek. 

“Did you sleep at all last night, love?” He asks after a moment. I melt.

“...No,” I say, because it’s the truth, “nightmares again. ‘Same ones as always.” I grumble, “Highlight of the evening was the stupid vine-tendril-monster I fought fourth year—The one that almost got me and Penny.”

It’s always the same nightmares. The ones that have haunted me for years. I feel foolish still having them, but my therapist says that they’re part of my trauma, and that trauma doesn’t care much for your feelings. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Baz says, “Would you like to stay in tonight then?” I nod. 

I hate it when he says ‘sorry’ for things he hasn’t done, but he’s distracted me by stroking his thumb against my cheek—Baz makes me feel like a big kitten, with all the petting he does. 

I want Baz to keep touching me, so I pull him closer. He obliges, and shifts to kneel in front of me, the ends of his hair side-sweep my face as he moves. I scrunch my nose. He turns to look, and it happens again. Baz sighs into his laughter and tucks his hair behind his ear. 

“Sorry Snow.” He says. I shift my legs so I’m sitting up farther. 

Baz is leaning against the edge of the sofa, his chest is pressed against the cushion, and he rests his elbows down on the patterned fabric. Though I pulled him to come closer, he stays stubbornly withdrawn. He’s crossed his arms over his chest and is looking down on me with an amused expression. Admiring me I suppose. He always calls me handsome, even to insult me. 

_ ‘Snow, you beautiful dunce,’  _ he’ll say,  _ ‘You are the best looking man I’ve ever known, but you’re as thick as a brick wall,’ _ and _ ‘Simon, you gorgeous bastard.’  _

He’s such a prick. 

I try to grab Baz’s attention again by pulling on his sleeve, but I  _ am _ tired, so it turns into a pathetic tug between my thumb and my forefinger. He looks down as I do it again, and I let out a small whine to try to sway him (It’s not very dignified, but I’m desperate). 

“Hmm?” He says, in a tone meant irritate me, “You say something Snow?” 

I can’t believe I still have to put up with this. There’s a small frown on my brow as I turn to look him in the eye, he’s got a cheeky little smirk on. I pull his sleeve again.

“Asking for a snog are we?” Baz teases. I want to roll my eyes, but Baz’s expression softens again. He leans in to give me the softest kiss I’ve ever been dealt. 

I love kissing Baz. He’s gotten pretty good at it since we first got together, (his eagerness to learn has never failed him). 

It’s taken us a while to get here though. For the first few months after the Mage’s death we didn’t kiss much. I was too numb to do, or really  _ feel _ anything. Both Penny and Baz were with me for the first few weeks, but after the Hearing, things settled down a lot. 

Baz went back to school. He finished the last four months by himself, and graduated at the top of our class. He told us despite everything that had happened, things really hadn't changed much. I wouldn’t have been able to stand it. I’m glad I didn’t go back. I don’t think I could even bring myself to look at the White Chapel again. Ebb’s not there anymore, neither is the Mage, Penny won’t go back, and Agatha had to leave the country just to  _ get away _ .

I don’t have magic. I don’t have my sword. All in all… The Watford I miss isn’t real anymore. 

But that’s okay. I’ve moved on from the past. I still have Penny, the Bunces, the Wellbeloves too, I’m sure. I have my Wings and a tail to remind me of what I had, and that it was real.

I have a Vampire boyfriend. And his mouth is on mine. 

He’s soft and he’s lovely. My hands are gently weaved into his hair and I kiss him back just as sweetly. He’s my strongest and most painful reminder of the past, but the life that he breathes into me… it’s astounding.

He pulls away too soon. 

“Well then Simon, what  _ would _ you like to do tonight? Order in? Run out to get something? See what Bunce has stocked in the fridge?” He spoke softly, his voice becoming little but a deep hum in his throat. 

I can’t take my eyes off of him. His lips are parted, and the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like I’m the only other person on the earth. I think it goes straight to my ego because I cock my head and say to him, just as softly, with a little smirk, 

“I think I’d much rather have you.” 

Baz’s shoulders fall back and I have have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at his expression.

He’s not quite used to me flirting yet, though I seem to do it all the time. Every time I make an offhand comment about his appearance or manners he turns away and rubs the back of his neck, pretending not to blush. I dare-not mention it, just in case he stops doing it. 

Baz ends up muttering a half-hearted ‘Oh really?’ before leaning down to kiss me a little harder than before. 

I'll admit that I wasn’t always...  _ aware _ of my attraction towards Baz. I’d never even  _ thought _ about my own feelings towards blokes before him. I suppose those feelings were overlapped by thinking I was jealous of him, or that everyone just thought of him the same (Penny told me that I was  _ completely _ incorrect on that one). But as I’ve come to learn, all the things I used to hate about Baz are the things that I now find ridiculously attractive (I suppose I had already found him that way before…?). 

I can’t keep myself from smiling again and it messes up our rhythm. Baz pulls away from me briefly to place his head on my collar bone, he shoves his arms beneath me so he can wrap his arms around my chest. He huffs a laugh, and his breath warms my neck. 

“What?” I ask playfully.

“It’s just that you, Simon Snow, get distracted from food, by kissing  _ me _ .”

“Oh sod off.” I laugh. 

“Okay, important question,” he pauses, “if there was a basket of biscuits in one room, and I in the other, which room would you go to?”

“If there’s butter with those biscuits I think I’m well off to tossing you to the curb.” I say, twisting a long tendril of black hair around my index finger. 

“I’m absolutely crushed, Snow, knowing how genuine that statement is.” Baz says, and then he pauses, and asks, “But I'd love to know, would you  _ really _ chose—“

“Y’know I’m really fixing for  _ Asian _ tonight. Thai maybe? What about you?” I interrupt. 

(...I'm embarrassed to say that I can’t answer his question).

“Hmm, sounds acceptable.” Baz replies slowly. Though, I’m not sure those are his exact words, because just then he had shoved his face into my shoulder.

A few seconds pass as the conversation ebbs away. His silky hair slips through my fingers, and his embrace tightens.

“...I missed you today.” Baz says quietly. 

“You saw me yesterday.” I say, and then, “I missed you too.” Because I did. 

I miss him, period. Everyday, all the time.

“This is awful.” He says with a sigh.

“Wha’ do you mean?” I mumble. 

“I mean that we can’t even manage a  _ day _ away from each other Snow, doesn’t that seem inconvenient? What if you leave the city for a school trip? I think I’d shrivel up and die from the withdrawal.” I laugh, 

“You’d find some way to tag along I’m sure. You’d turn yourself into a bat and hide in my suitcase.” 

“I’ve told you that I can’t actually do that.”

“Well you’ve never  _ tried _ .” I press. Bat jokes always,  _ always _ , push his buttons.

“You’re relentless, you.” Baz scoffs. I swear he nuzzles himself deeper into me, so I rest my hands on his back. 

I would say that it’s strange, Baz and I touching each other so openly after all this time. But we do it so often I swear we’re  _ making up _ those eight years of lost time. 

I’m so glad he’s here, I’m so glad we can just be together. I want to tell him that he means the world to me, right then and there. It would be a feat knowing  _ my _ way with words… 

And then he gets up. 

“Noooo!” I whine, but I know it’s pointless. I just enjoy being as dramatic as he is, on occasion. 

“Simon, honestly, we can’t  _ both _ be so hopeless.” He stands from the couch and strolls carelessly into the kitchen. I hear him take out a glass and fill it with tap-water. 

“I think you’re misunderstanding the definition of ‘being in love’.” I say, just a tad bitter. 

“Should I ask Bunce, then?” I can hear him take a long drought. 

I respond to his question with a half-hearted grunt, because I can’t tell if he’s serious or not. There’s a cold spot on my chest now where he was lying, and it’s making me chilly. I pull the blanket draped over the side of the sofa on top of me. Perfect boyfriend replacement. 

The woven woolen fabric is a bit itchy but it warms up fast, I feel like falling asleep right then and there. 

“Asian, then?” Baz says from the kitchen. He turns on the sink again to refill his glass. 

“Yes, I’m  _ craving _ curry… What about that place on Kings Cross? ‘Busy this time of day though.” 

I hear Baz swallow, “Hmm, would you mind the wait?”

“A little, you? We could call to see how long the wait is.” Baz drains the rest of his glass and sets it on the counter, I close my eyes. 

“Right then. Are we leaving?” He takes a few steps around the kitchen, “I suppose we should call Bunce to see if she’d like anything…” 

I stifle a yawn, “Eh, it’s a bit early to eat yet isn’t it? I was hoping to leave later, I haven’t showered yet today.”

“I suppose, if we leave at five exactly the wait shouldn’t be too awful, but we should call just in case like you said.” I hear Baz step to the lounge again. 

“Right-O, I’ve got a few good ideas left in me yet.” I mumble, pulling the blanket up. Baz‘s shadow looms over me. I open my eyes again. He’s leaning with his elbows in the back of the couch, watching over me. 

“Well, if you want to be on time then, Chosen One, you’d better shower now. It’s four-thirty-seven.” 

“I guess…” I say, ignoring him. The blanket is quite good boyfriend replacement… he looks at me fondly, but also with impatience. My showers aren’t  _ that _ long… With a grumble, I manage to sit up and re-align myself to the world. My wings are sore so I stretch them open, and Baz takes a step back as not to be smacked by them, (It took me almost three months to stop whacking people on accident). My tail too, can move independently, and that gives a good whip as well. Baz says that when I’m proper brassed-off it swishes like a cat's tail but I don’t believe him. 

I stand and stretch my spine, my wings I stretch again so that they’re fully extended, and I feel my shirt ride up a bit. Penny has a knack for sewing so she made me a few at-home shirts with slits in the backs for my wings, but they’re not quite perfect. 

I fold them back again and turn to the hall across from the lounge where the bathroom is. Baz is on his phone, texting Penny about dinner probably. 

“You’ve got twenty minutes Snow,” he says, glancing up. Do you want me to wait up for you?” 

“I wouldn’t mind.” I reply. His gaze returned to his phone screen but he smiled regardless. 

“Twenty minutes.” He repeated.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
